I lost my way.
It was easy being alone, my company books and butterflies and babies…sometimes quiet. Stretching and bending and crunches, mango smoothies and books themed around letting go and letting God.
There, in the forest of my own creativity, climbing trees of light that led to more light, consuming goodness and sipping truth infused nectar, hardness began to disintegrate and my soul, once again, began to shine. My fractured heart started releasing particles of envy, fear, distrust. Sometimes I would pick the pieces back up, I missed them. Often, though, I would laugh at the shatters lying on the ground, pick up my shovel and bury them for good. My back yard became a fertile cemetery of characteristics I no longer wanted or needed to be WHOLE.
But then, in this wholeness, in this comfortable space, in this knowledge and in this growing something new began to emerge.
It was a want. A loneliness. A calling. I couldn’t stay here, alone, in the grass. The nectar was too much for just one person to hoard, to get drunk on…I had to share. My collection was almost complete – the steps of survival taken, the ladder of self discovering growing shorter with each ascension. The higher I rose out of my body the more I loved my surroundings – and the people, they were part of it. That’s what was lacking … this community, this outreach, this ALL. If I was them, and felt them in my bones, behind the glow of my eyes, skin to skin, heart to heart…their joy my joy, their grief also mine – how could I stay here with my make believe friends?
The first step out of safety was terrifying. Would they even know that I was part of them or would I just be another number on a couch? Would I be another invisible soul pushing around a grocery cart full of processed dreams that will just end up like everything over-processed – trash?Waste?Garbage?
What I found were other souls, with their own backyard stories…some beginning their ladder ascension, some climbing off – others skipping steps all together and just choosing to fly, broken winged and hopeful but spinning wildly out of control. My love stayed the same though. I pulled up the ones closest to the ground, spent extra time patching wings, handing out flight manuals. My eyes still saw truth, my heart so full of empathy and compassion ,that sometimes, I felt like a different creature, from another world, another time.
Time has passed, and I’ve become comfortable in my new habitat. People’s eyes don’t affect me – I can look straight into their flat color and feel things…but I find it easier to block the feelings. I speak what’s in my mind, more often then not from a filter…but my inside voice expresses opinions that I didn’t know could come from me. They aren’t always kind. They aren’t always compassionate – after I’ve thought them I feel dirty. Low. Dark. I don’t want to mend wings anymore either. I want people to climb off the fucking ground and do their own sewing. I learned the word “fuck.”
This voice isn’t mine. These thoughts maybe once were, but I drowned them long ago. Why are they resurfacing? They feel like those ugly fish with the lights over their heads, always down there, lurking, haunting everything floating on the surface.
Maybe I’m drowning.
That’s what happens I guess, or can happen, when a ladder gets so tall it becomes exhausting to pull yourself up even one more time. It’s easier to descend back to whatever it is you were climbing away from. When you walk in purity and everyone throws sludge your way it can be exhausting to light up anything. Sludge is grey, sludge is sticky, sludge doesn’t have a lot of grace for the clean. It consumes, dampens – mold grows off of it. I’ve become walking, crudely breathing mold.
I know it’s happened – which is why I was afraid of myself with people.
I want out. I turn around and head for home – it feels very very far away. With every step I slide my hand up and down my arm, trying to peel off the thick layers of sarcasm that cover my skin. I run fingers through my hair, picking particles of fear and anger from once golden strands. I wish I had a comb – or a hot shower. Some of it comes loose, but it takes scraping and tugging and even some of my hair comes out. My skin is raw. I’m beginning to feel lighter but the guilt of what’s happened clings to my heart and think I might suffocate.
I pause, look for a river, a stream, anything to drink that might bring relief. I find nothing. I’m so thirsty Spirit…where are You? Did you leave me or me You? Where are you for fuck sake?! Tears sting my eyes. They hold on to my eyelashes, little prisms of pain – they streak down my dirty face and fall on the corner of my lips. I taste them. More follow, my parched mouth finds what it was craving. Relief – It came from myself.
My steps quicken with each drop of released pain, with each drip of self compassion. I look over my shoulder, then back at the paved patch, and I began to jog. The steps feel heavy but with each stride I become faster, until now I’m running…running…running. The harsh pavement turns into soft dirt under my feet, I keep sprinting – I know I’ve almost found it. I rip at my clothes – my fingernails tangled up in strings and fibers of disillusion – I wipe my eyes of the remaining tears because I’ve had my fill. My body glows as I scan the sky for sun. Where is it? Where’s my friend? Then I realize – it’s coming from me. Oh I’ve missed you. I’m glowing from the inside out. The sun inside of me, reconnecting to all in front and behind and below and above. I remember who I am. I am pure light.
I fall on the ground, stare up at the clouds and feel my breath. The grass is dotted with tiny yellow flowers and I’m inside of them and beside them – they tickle my toes and I tickle theirs. The hawks circle and ride the wind above me, and call…a sharp sound piercing the air…they call me.
“You are not lost. You just lost your way. Welcome home. “